


Birthday

by womanfromblackwater



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur is the best big brother, Birthdays, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanfromblackwater/pseuds/womanfromblackwater
Summary: Arthur celebrates his little brother's birthday across the years
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Birthday

Thirteen

From the moment he saw the small figure hunched at the side of the camp, Arthur knew something was wrong. The little urchin Dutch and Hosea had brought back a few months past usually spent his time getting into everything around the camp, seeing how much he could squirrel away in his tent before anyone noticed. If not that he was pestering Arthur. The kid wanted to copy everything he did and had no respect for Arthur’s time or personal space. Sitting on a rock staring off across the prairie was definitely not one of his usual activities. Silently hoping that the kid wasn’t getting sick, Arthur had gone about his day, until he noticed that by mid afternoon John still hadn’t moved. A part of him- most of him if he was being honest- was tempted to leave him there, let him sort out his own problems. But the small part that made him take some pity on the smaller boy took over, and he found himself walking over to the kid against his better judgement. 

“You okay, boy?”

Startled, John visibly flinched at his voice, before quickly squaring his shoulders and putting on what Arthur thought of as his “tough guy scowl.” It was not especially intimidating coming from the skinny kid. 

“I’m fine.”

“You ain’t. If you was fine you wouldn’t be over here. So, I’m gonna sit right here until you tell me what’s goin’ on.” 

He plopped himself down on the grass, wondering why he was doing this but unable to make himself get up and walk away. John crossed his arms across his chest and turned his head away, but didn’t get up. Arthur guessed five minutes before the kid spilled his guts. John held out for ten before the tears he had been fighting started to run down his cheeks. 

“I’m thirteen today.”

“Well, happy birthday, kid. That ain’t nothing to cry about.”

“That’s thirteen years my ma ain’t here. Pa always said I killed her. She made good money, too. It was my fault Pa lost his best girl. He coulda been rich.”

Arthur took a deep breath, not sure what to say. John never talked about his life before the gang, only said he was on his own since he was eight. Now he guessed he knew why.

“Hey, that ain’t… that ain’t your fault. You didn’t do nothing. It happens, boy. Ain’t nice, but it happens.”

He wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders, surprised when John didn’t fight him and just leaned into his side. 

“You got a family now. Ain’t much of one, but we’re here.”

“I guess.” 

The tears had stopped, and Arthur gave the boy’s shoulders a squeeze before getting up, brushing dirt off his jeans.

“Make sure you’re back for dinner. Hosea’ll worry if he knows you were out here all day.”

Having gotten a small nod, Arthur strode back to the main camp and saddled his horse. John could be whiny and aggressive and annoying, but he felt bad for the kid. Least he could do was get him a present. Probably the first one of his life. 

Later that night, Arthur knew he’d done the right thing. It was way too big on John, but something had told him that the boy was meant to have it. His eyes were barely visible under the brim of the white gambler hat, but he had refused to take it off since he had opened the sloppily wrapped package. Arthur smiled to himself. He’d grow into it. 

Twenty-Two

Giving a last wave to the trapper, Arthur rode off with the package secured behind him. He’d watched John shiver through the winter, too stubborn to ask for a heavier jacket and spending all his own money on presents for the girl Uncle had brought into camp. John had proudly declared that she didn’t charge him anymore, that soon enough she’d be only his, but Arthur figured that didn’t mean much when his lips were tinged with blue and he was practically sitting in the campfire to keep warm in a blizzard. The idea of the man he’d come to think of as a brother going through another cold snap like that had given Arthur the idea for his birthday gift. The ox leather had been easy to come by, the coyote had taken several nights of hunting, but it was worth it to see the result. 

He arrived at camp to find the celebration already in full swing, despite it only being mid-afternoon. Arthur had always gotten a special meal and presents, but Dutch doted on John, and his birthday was second only to Christmas as the gang’s biggest party of the year. Hating that much attention himself, Arthur didn’t mind the arrangement. 

John was sitting on the edge of a wagon, laughing with Bill and Uncle and already deep into his fourth drink. Arthur had been right, he had grown into the hat, although the white had become a deep tan after nearly a decade of use. Figuring he may as well give him his present while he was sober enough to appreciate it, he pulled the package off of Boadicea and headed over. 

“Hey, kid, havin’ a good day?” He slung an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, the closest to a hug John would allow. 

“Sure. Hosea let me sleep till noon, so I’d say it’s a good one. They won’t let me near the chuckwagon, so I guess Pearson got something good, too. How you been?”

“Fine, fine. Got this for ya.” He handed over the neatly folded brown paper. 

“Shit, Arthur, you didn’t need to go this big. Uncle here got me a half-full box of bullets. Pretty sure he pulled it off your wagon.”

Uncle stood up taller.

“Hey, those is gonna save your life one day, boy. You’ll be thankin’ ol’ Uncle then!”

They all laughed as John tore back the paper on Arthur’s gift. His genuine smile warmed Arthur’s heart. John was usually either dead serious or drunkenly cackling. Honest happiness from him was rare. He ran his fingers through the soft fur of the jacket’s lining, admiring for a moment before looking up to Arthur. 

“Thank you, brother. For real, thank you.”

“Aw, was nothin’. Now we don’t all have to listen to you and your chatterin’ teeth next time we head north.” He gave John a playful shove and steered him towards the campfire, where the rest of the gang was staring to gather for a rare night of relaxation. 

Twenty-Six

“Hey, you up yet?”

Arthur could see through the gaping hole in the wall that he was, but figured John would appreciate the knock more than just barging in. 

“Yep. You can come in.”

John was slumped in a chair, half-finished coffee in his hands. Dark circles under his eyes showed the toll the past few weeks had taken. Losing Sean, losing Jack and the fight to get him back, settling in at a new camp- they were all stressed and exhausted. Only Jack, looking up to wave at Arthur from his spot on the floor, happily playing with his toy horse, seemed to be truly okay. 

“Just wanted to wish you many happy returns of the day.”

“What?”

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, John stared at Arthur, who remained silent until John’s eyes widened in realization. 

“Jesus, I hadn’t even been keeping track. Already?”

“What is it, Pa?” Jack asked, climbing up into John’s lap. Arthur answered for him.

“It’s your pa’s birthday. Gettin’ old, he is.”

“Really? Is there gonna be a cake?” Jack’s eyes lit up. He still wasn’t exactly sure what a birthday was, but he knew that whenever somebody had one there were treats, and for his there had been presents. 

“I don’t think so, Jack. We all got a lot going on right now, we’re not gonna have a party right in the middle of it.”

He was right, Arthur knew that, but a part of him remembered how hard it had been to get John to acknowledge his birthday in the first place, and he didn’t want to let that go. An idea forming, he held out his arms to Jack. 

“Come on, Jack. Let’s give your pa some space. John, I’m borrowin’ your kid.” 

John nodded, smiling at the giggle that Jack gave as Arthur picked him up and spun him around. Even though they’d all had hard times lately, Arthur seemed to be handling it better than he was. Jack deserved that, not sitting around in a rotting house watching his father brood all day. 

Arthur had planned carefully, so by the time John returned from his chores around camp everything was done. They had spread a blanket across the floor for a picnic, and he, Jack, and Abigail sat around it, a small cake from a bakery in Saint Denis in the center. John was shocked. 

“Didn’t think we were gonna just let the day go by, did ya? Come sit down.” Arthur cut cake for all of them, pointedly ignoring the shine of tears in John’s eyes. A kiss from Abigail and a bear hug from Jack had him relaxed enough to enjoy their small party. When Arthur rose to go, he handed John a folded piece of paper. 

“Happy birthday, kid.”

Arthur didn’t know it, but John kept the drawing of himself, Abigail, and Jack tucked in his satchel whenever he had to be away from camp, admiring how Arthur had captured Jack’s smirk, the light in Abigail’s eyes, and how he’d made them look like a real family.

Thirty-Four

John’s first birthday in his new home had been a success, if he did say so himself. Abigail had insisted on Uncle and Jack taking over his chores, while the two of them had hidden the flour to prevent her from even attempting to bake. It had been a peaceful day spent lounging on his own porch, looking out over the sunlight on his own land. It was only when dinner was finished and Uncle and Jack had gone to bed that he felt a twinge of sadness. It came every year, the reminder that Arthur hadn’t been here to share the day with him. The hat from his first year with the gang had been lost in the flight from Beaver Hollow, replaced with Arthur’s own, which was tucked in a drawer in the wardrobe, the family portrait Arthur had drawn inside of it. He still wore the jacket, even though there were few truly cold days in New Austin, even in the winter. He supposed his new life had been Arthur’s last gift, and he hoped he would be proud of what John was doing with it. As he watched a blue jay hop across the railing, closer to his hand than most animals would dare to go, John figured he was.


End file.
